Stone Angels

by Paula R. C. Readman

  The overgrown bushes hid a muddy footpath that ran the full length of Back Street and gave its residents access from their backyards onto the high street. With the help of a streetlamp, I could see a faded painted sign over a pair of double doors that told me I had found the art shop.

  I guessed the uneven paved yard at the back of the shop had once been its garden. High brick walls separated the shop’s yard from the houses on either side. Some lights came on in one of the houses, but I took a chance that no one was watching and crossed the muddy footpath into the yard to get a better look at the possibility of getting my car in. A collection of discarded boxes and a couple of trashcans littered one side of the yard, but this still allowed enough room for a vehicle to fit up against the doors. Bert had the good sense to use the two boundary walls to create a covered area for keeping his stock dry while loading and unloading a delivery van. It would, of course, conceal my car from prying eyes too.

  ***

  Early next morning I went out to make some preliminary sketches of the landscapes for a commission Basil had requested, but a sudden downpour curtailed my plans. After stripping off most of my wet clothes, I stood, in my underpants, warming myself in front of Aga oven. While my jeans and jumper steamed gently in the growing heat, I tried to get the circulation back into my fingertips. The phone rang as I reached for the kettle to make a hot drink. On snatching it up, I snapped “Hello!”

  “Hi, James, Basil here. I’d like to apologise for the letter yesterday, but I didn’t know when I would get the chance to speak to you in person.” Basil said in a rush. “The client is an important one that we cannot afford to lose.”

  “Are you in some difficulty, old boy?” I stretched as far as I could, without pulling the phone off the wall, for my father’s old trench coat and slipped it on. Common sense would’ve made me wear it when I originally went out.

  “Ever since I got back from America it’s been a living hell.”

  “America?” I queried, trying to flex my fingers while holding the phone.

  “Yes.”

  ‘But that was months ago. Have you been away again?’

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Oh right. So how was it?”

  “What— America?”

  “Yes.” Basil was not quite on the ball. Something was bothering him.

  “Bloody good actually. I’m surprised by how well Easter’s work sold, especially after Chuck’s negative feedback.”

  “Chuck who?” I added hot water to my cup.

  “Chuck Sparks. I’ve known him for years. He’s now my partner, thanks to Easter’s sell-out exhibition in America. It became the deal breaker. Now I can move onwards and upwards.”

  “Deal breaker?” My mind still on the name Chuck Sparks, it sounded familiar to me.

  “For years, I’ve been trying to get access to the American market. I’ve managed to sell one or two paintings over there, but having a partner and a main office in the States means it’ll be much easier.”

  “Wasn’t he a friend of my mother?” I suddenly remembered and was unable to contain my excitement.

  “Your mother?” Basil’s voice dropped, briefly betraying awkwardness.

  “Yes. You’ve mentioned him in connection with her I’m sure.”

  “James, you’re very much mistaken.” He rustled some papers.

  “No— I’m certain. A few years ago you were talking about living in America after the war.”

  “Really?” Basil’s tone deepened. The bile in my gut rose as my hatred increased. He was using mother to further his career again.

  “Yes, after the war, I did spend time in America, but I never met your mother.”

  “I didn’t say you met her.”

  “So what are you saying?’ He paused, a shade too long. On recovering himself he added. “I’m quite busy at the moment. And I’ll need that commission as soon as possible.”

  “No, no, you don’t get out of this. You said when you discovered a couple of mother’s paintings in a junk shop in New York, your friend introduced you to my mother’s agent. Now I want to speak to him.”

  “Look James, I’ll ask my business partner if he knew your mother, but at the moment, I’m busy dealing with late paying clients, who still demand I find them their next sound investment. What’s a man supposed to live on while he waits for his ship to come in? And to top it all, mine could be bloody sinking before it has even set sail.”

  “The shit’s your problem, Basil. I want his number.”

  “Sorry James, but I need to speak to him first. It’s all about privacy. I don’t pass your number out to anyone. I know how you like your privacy.”

  I wanted to argue the point, but, once again, he had the upper hand. Both he and Easter were winning at my expense. I changed tack. “So what’s going on, old boy?” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “Another bloody girl has gone missing!”

  “What girl?” I swapped the phone over to my other hand.

  “I don’t need this right now, especially when my new business partner is such a highly principled man. If shit like this gets back to him…”

  “How’s he going to find out?” Pleased to learn something else to my advantage.

  “Oh, you don’t know, do you? I forgot you don’t subscribe to the papers. Guess who’s breathing down my neck again. According to the papers, I’m helping them with their enquiries.”

  “What? you’ve actually been named?’ I bit my lip to keep my excitement under control and tasted blood.

  “Christ, no! It just mentions someone is helping them. Luckily no reporters are sniffing around my home or upsetting Jenny at the office. However, I don’t suppose it’ll take them long to find out who the mysterious helper is. If the police take me down to the station, maybe things will be different.”

  “Scary for you.” I added coffee to a mug to make myself another drink.

  “I’m sure before long they’ll be camping right outside my home. So far, no one else has identified me in that damn photograph with the first victim. The newspaper office told the police where and when they received the photo. Apparently, there were other photos of the victim talking to the celebrities on that same evening, too.”

  “Have they questioned the celebrities?”

  “No idea. Guess they would be above suspicion.”

  “No one is above suspicion, Basil.”

  “Does that include you, James?”

  “If you remember, I left soon after meeting you.”

  “We only have your word for that, James. I couldn’t swear to it that you left when you said. The place was heaving that night. Anyway, the negatives would show the police that I wasn’t the last person the victim spoke to that evening. It’s just the newspapers doing what they love best, stirring up shit in the hope some will stick, and they will have an exclusive to plaster over the front of their rag.”

  I managed to get the milk out of the fridge and finished making a drink as Basil went on. “The last thing I need right now is another reason for my slow paying customers not to pay up.”

  “So being an unknown does have its advantages then”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a good job you’re not famous. It’s strange that after all your gallery publicity launch photos, you would’ve become a bit of a local celebrity.”

  “Fame has nothing to do with it, Ravencroft. Didn’t you just hear what I said? Another bloody girl has gone missing. I haven’t been able to go into my office for weeks because I’ve been too busy helping the police. They’ve nothing on me.”

  “I thought you had gone back to America.”

  “They were waiting at the airport for me. I’ve no idea why they thought I might be helpful to their enquiry with these disappearances. Apparently there’s nothing linking the girls but me. It’s bloody ludicrous, James. Surely someone has encountered them all in the course of their working day, the same as me, or knows them all on a personal level. For Christ’s
sake, all of them had jobs that brought them into contact with a host of other people.”

  “I wish I could help. As I said to the police, I thought they wanted to talk to me about the day Mrs Loring died.”

  “What? When— when did they speak to you?”

  “God, Basil, it was ages ago.” I sipped my coffee. Out the window the rain clouds had lifted. The sun broke through the dark clouds and highlighted the stone statue that marked the position in the garden, where the last few ancient gravestones stood.

  “When, James?” Basil’s voice rang in my ear. “For Christ’s sake, when?”

  “Hmm, let me see.” My thoughts were on the stone angel statue in the garden. She wasn’t really an angel. She had no wings. Her weatherworn features gave her a sad expression. Her hand, raised in blessing, had lost all its fingers. Just a thumb remained. Originally the statue of the Virgin Mary came from inside the old church father told me. From my locked attic bedroom on warm summer evenings, as a child, I would watch mother through the binoculars as she wandered around the garden ghost-like and barefoot, dressed in a long flowing nightgown. She would often sit beneath the statue on one of the tabletop graves, and talk to it. “When you were in America last year.” I finally answered Basil’s question.

  “Last bloody year!” He bellowed.

  I held the phone from my ear for a moment.

  “You had a whole year to tell me and you didn’t think to mention it sooner?”

  “What difference would it have made? You weren’t here. This is the first time you’ve called me. Should I have left a message with Jenny?”

  “No, of course not! It’s so embarrassing. Not just for me, but especially for Jenny. At least they’ve been respectful when they’ve visited the gallery. Jenny has been brilliant; all her records are up to date.”

  “I thought they came in connection with Mrs Loring’s crash, but what they were interested in was you talking to the girl.” I lied. It wasn’t as though he could ask them.

  “What girl!”

  “You know— the girl with Mrs Loring’s daughter?”

  “Jeannie?”

  “No—her friend. She worked near your office— in the café.”

  “Annie Linton!”

  “That’s it. Annie. Though, I didn’t know her surname until the police mentioned it.” I put the kettle on again.

  “That’s the missing girl, James. That’s who the two stooges from Scotland Yard came to question me about.”

  “Oh, so not Mrs Loring then?”

  “Mrs Loring’s death was an accident. They’re more interested in the disappearance of another girl.”

  “You only gave them a lift into London.”

  “You know that. I know that. And Tamsin knew that. Only she’s not here to speak up for me, is she? Jeannie is now in America so upset by what has happened to her mother, and now her friend. I can’t talk to her. Well, I can if I want to see what the inside of a prison cell looks like, which I don’t.”

  “I see your point old boy.”

  “Bloody hell, James, lay off the old boy stuff! Luckily for me, no bodies have turned up yet. They haven’t any real proof I’m involved. I’m seriously thinking about finding myself a lawyer as this is getting a little too crazy for my liking.”

  “Isn’t that considered to be a sign that you must be guilty of something?”

  “No! It means I’m covering my arse. For Christ’s sake, James, I just wish you could understand how serious this is for me. I may have to cut back on my artists’ list. If I can’t sell their work, there’s no point in me buying it.”

  “Does that mean my work too?” I added water and milk to my mug. Pulling out a chair, I sat at the table with my feet off the cold floor.

  “Your work sells and the clients that buy it pay on time. Easter’s doing well too, especially after his promotional American trip. I’ve been thinking about bringing you two together. I know both of your styles are very different, but I’m sure that’s to our advantage.”

  “What do you mean together?” The hair rose on the back of my neck.

  “Exhibition, James. Look, I need to think about it a bit more. Put some planning and forethought in. You know, the right venue, the right people to invite, that sort of thing. I don’t want to waste good money. Anyway, Easter’s busy working on a new series of paintings.”

  “Is he?” I hoped Basil would give me an insight. Though, knowing Joe, he isn’t one for giving anything away, not even to Basil.

  I put my mug in the sink and glanced out the window. The sun still shone on the garden angel. “Four isn’t enough.” I said absently.

  “Sorry, what’s not enough?”

  “Oh, nothing. If Easter’s creating something new, isn’t it about time I did?”

  “Hmm, yes, maybe it is…” Basil sighed. I hoped he was thinking and wasn’t bored.

  While I waited for his reply, I thumbed the sketches I had made for the commission. I thought I could hear someone talking in the background. Finally Basil spoke again.

  “Of course, James. I do understand your need to be creative. It’s just that your customer base is very sensitive. We can’t be sure how they would react to your change of style, or whether they would want to buy it.”

  “So it’s all down to money. So why can Easter work on something new, then?”

  “His market is larger than yours. Look, James, put together some ideas, some sketches and let me see them. We’ll take it from there. Remember I need to see the sketches before you start painting.”

  “Right— I’m—” I stopped myself from saying more as anger tore through me. So soddin’ Easter can paint what he wants, but I need permission.

  “You have plenty of commissions to fulfil, James. We’ll talk further after I’ve seen your ideas. Okay, Jenny, I’ll be with you soon… They want what? Got to go James, Jenny needs me. I just hope it’s not the soddin’ police again.”

  A quick shower warmed me up and cooled my temper. By the time I was dressed, all I could think about was showing Basil where my real ability lay, but first I needed to get my studio ready for my next visitor. After checking the pantry to see what I needed to replace, as Mrs P always said, “you must feed the body to feed the mind,” I headed off to the local farm shop to stock up on milk, butter, eggs and bread. A simple life is the secret to success. By giving yourself enough mind space, you can stay focused on your goals. There are only three things I needed to make me happy; a breathing space, a room in which I can work and most importantly, a muse.

  On entering my studio, I found chaos. Paint-smothered rags, discarded tubes and dirty brushes littered surfaces and the paint-splattered floor. After fetching Mrs P’s tidy box, I set to work cleaning the studio to remove all traces of my last muse. As I restored order, a wave of peace and tranquillity descended on me. It gave an understanding of mother’s passion and her need to stay focused.

  The rooftop studio had everything, even a sink with hot water. Thanks to Mrs P’s training, the dress was carefully washed and restored to its original crisp freshness and hung to dry on a line outside the studio window.

  I placed the latest finished work with the others in a wall rack before cleaning the tiled walls and floor around my workspace. Next the brushes were washed in turpentine and using a fresh rag I cleaned out the old paint, before rinsing them in soapy water taking time reshaping the bristles before leaving them to air dry. I sorted through the paints, tossing any empty tubes into a bin. Then starting with the blues to the left and finished with the reds on my right. I scraped the old paint from the palette, taking it back to the bare wood as best I could. After cleaning up the paint scrapings, I took a last look around before bringing the dress in and placing it on the mannequin in my storeroom. I was ready to bring home my next muse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  March 1967

  I prayed my timing was right. After pulling off Market Street, I drove slowly down Old Lane and reversed through a gap in the wall. Once I had backed over t
he waste ground and stopped as close as I could to the delivery doors of the art shop, I got out.

  My car fitted under the porch with just enough room for me to ease out of the driver’s side and walk round to the boot. I checked the surrounding houses. All that could be seen was a thin sliver of light filtering through some of the curtained windows, but most were in darkness. I slipped on my driving gloves, knocked on the door and stood back.

  After a couple of minutes, Jackie opened one of the double doors. Bright light spilled out. She stood in the doorway dressed in jeans and a bright green Sloppy Joe. “Hi Tommy. Glad to see you found us okay.” She raised a finger to her lips. “Please be as quiet as you can when loading your car. Come through, and I’ll explain.” She closed the door behind us. “Bert gets complaints about after-hours deliveries, so hopefully we won’t make too much noise getting these in your car.” Jackie gestured to the boxes stacked behind the doors.

  “I’ve sorted out your order, though I haven’t sealed them as I thought you might like to check them first. Bert prefers customers to check so they cannot complain. He even has a saying, “check, pay, take them away.”

  The sight of Jackie’s pale brown lashes framing her bright green eyes made me want her so much more. She met my gaze with an equally intense stare. I dropped to my knees, scooped up my list from the top of the largest box and scanned it, pretending to check the contents.

  Jackie squatted next to me, her left hand resting on the side of the box. From the corner of my eye I scrutinised the shape of it, the frailty of her fingers and the slenderness of her wrist. As she leant forward, strands of her hair fell across her face. With a gentle sweep of her hand, she pushed her hair back as she watched me closely.